Secret Author
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Benny's parents are sending him to spend the summer with his great-aunt, because they can't afford to pay someone to watch him while they work. Benny is resistant, because he knows it means that he won't be with his friends over summer vacation, but his parents have no choice. The thing is, it doesn't turn out as bad as he fears.
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“It didn’t explode.” Caden peered into the glass opening of the oven. “That’s a good sign at least.” He opened the door and pulled the sheet tray out with a cautious curiosity. He quickly set it on the counter and studied the results carefully. He had managed to make the wings look amazing. They were the perfect golden brown beneath a glossy honey glaze. Under the bright lights of the kitchen, it could be photographed for any restaurant advertisement. He leaned over the tray
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Matthew first noticed the stranger under the fig trees: a boy about his age, hair the soft gold of honey, eyes an odd purplish-brown that made Matthew wonder if he wore colored contacts for the festival. When those eyes met his, Matthew's stomach fluttered. Outsiders flooded Figton every year for the Ivory Fig Ceremony, overtaking most of the main paths. Maybe the boy was just another visitor. Either way, Matthew blamed his quickened pulse on nerves about meeting someone new. “Hi, I’m
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Matthew, a lonely boy from the small town of Figton, befriends a mysterious stranger named Finn during the annual Ivory Fig Ceremony. Their friendship grows over the years as they reunite each summer, helping Matthew cope with personal challenges and the weight of tradition. When Matthew is chosen for a pivotal role in the festival, he discovers secrets about Finn and the town’s magical legacy, forcing him to make important decisions about his future and his place in Figton.
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When Noah’s partner Julian starts spending an unusual amount of time in the bathroom, well-meaning friends and family fuel his suspicions. What is Julian hiding from him?
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"That sounds like he's getting ready to cheat on you." She meant well. Ambrosia, my close friend, sat across from me in my apartment. She'd invited herself for coffee and gossip, but when the topic turned to my partner... I sighed. "I'm not so sure about that," I responded, scratching my scalp. "It's probably just the beginning of IBS." "Listen, Noah," Ambrosia said. "Doing his business in the bathroom once a day is one thing, but disappearing for an hour four, five times a day? J
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The night bustled. I lurked about in a lonely and damp alleyway, comfortably nestled behind two metal bins. The smell was ungodly, as the lids lay strewn about on the ground nearby. Part of me wished I could lift them, but it was a feat I couldn't dare to perform. The task did not interest me in the slightest. Instead, I peered out to the passing hunks of metal and rubber. How annoying. Rolling around at frightening speeds with their blinding circles of light. I recognized their use, but th
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Life was both hard and peaceful. I kept to myself mostly, but one night changed that. Ever since then, I'm forced to think about what had happened.
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I tipped the rest of the whiskey back and let it burn. Hollywood wants you to think the "brooding twenty-something with a glass of dark liquor" aesthetic is all smooth jazz, tailored suits, and smoldering eye contact. In reality? It’s throat-scalding liquid that tastes like battery acid and bad decisions, swallowed strictly to remind your central nervous system that you are still capable of feeling something. I slammed the glass down on the marble counter. Way too loud. Outside th
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The desert sun didn't set in the territory of Blackwater; it bled out, staining the horizon in bruises of purple and charcoal. Eric Thorne sat by his campfire, his hands trembling, not from the chill that always followed a sunset, but from the weight of the book in his lap. It was bound in leather that felt uncomfortably warm to the touch, pulsing like a slow, sleeping heart. This was the Sanguine Ledger. It was the forbidden knowledge that had cost Eric everything: his brothers-in-arms, hi
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The Lufthansa flight to Berlin had been on time, German efficiency, of course, thought Karl. Smiling, he turned to his fellow student David. “So welcome to the city of my ancestors. Excited?” David grinned, “Naturally. I’m sure you have got everything planned. I can’t wait to get off this plane and start exploring. What’s first on the itinerary?” “Taxi to our luxurious suite in the best 5 star hotel in the whole of Germany,” Karl replied laughing. He paused for effect and went on, “if
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The night was still and hot, suffocating me, trapping me in hell. I could taste asphalt. The night pressed me down. Smoke filled me. The sounds filtered through the nightmare. The crackle. The rise and fall of a far-off siren. They were muffled, not important. But the other sound, that was not to be ignored. The screaming. Screaming Screaming Screaming I woke up uneasily, hearing the bright piercing sound in my ears. My alarm. I turned it off, remove
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A story of paranoia, obsession and things you were never meant to know about.
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Gareth woke up wondering if he could remember the name of the man he'd slept with. He moved, pulling the sheet up a little bit. "You're awake." After a short pause, Gareth said, "Yes." He stiffened as a hand shifted under the covers and came to rest on his right side. "I hope you slept well." Lips landed on his neck. "Last night was great." Gareth sucked in air through his clenched teeth. "Yeah, great." He lay still a little longer. "Well…" He pushed off the sheet. "I should
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You speak of me as if you see me. Maybe you do. Maybe you pierce into the future with your worn pencil and peek at me right now. Your gaze roams through the packed street of Si Lom in Bangkok, ignoring the flurry of youngsters with their plastic bags laden with Pad Kaprao, Som Tam, or Moo Ping. You pass by the old Thais sitting by their makeshift stalls, the bright orchids and marigolds sharp against their wizened dark hands. Seeking your tomorrow, you pause in front of the imposing hotel. The b
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At twenty, I wrote my thirty-year-old self a letter. At forty, I found it. And here's my reply, one the laws of time won't let me send, but one that I owe him anyway.
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What happens when you have no idea you're being stalked. Why don't we find out?
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I watched through the window from the shadows. Not a single muscle twitched, save for the occasional blink of my eyes. I saw everything they did. They never suspected a thing. The people living in our house had no clue they were being stalked. I was good at what I did. My observation skills had served me well over the years when I was in foster care. My birth mother abandoned me when I was a few months old. When I first arrived, the couple fostering me helped me come out of my shell, as I
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Introduction Key Findings and Anomalies The Discovery: Relief keeper Joseph Moore arrived on December 26, 1900, after a passing steamer reported the light out on December 15. He found the main door secured, but the interior in disarray, with unmade beds, a cold fireplace, and a meal left uneaten. Log Book Details: The final entries, made by Thomas Marshall on Dec. 15, described a severe storm, saying "a storm such as I have never seen before", and noted that "Ducat was very quiet"
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The music pounded beneath the screams of twenty thousand teenage girls. From the wings, Mike Cooper watched Shane Kelly launch into the final chorus of the final song of the tour. Shane had already thrown his guitar pick into the audience and was standing at the front edge of the stage, one boot planted on a speaker, singing his heart out like he had not performed the same song forty-seven times over the past three months. This was finally it. The last song of the last set of t
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Caden is chasing a dream one failed recipe at a time. Beneath a tree in Golden Gate Park, Caden finds Kai—a sharp-eyed fifteen-year-old who somehow knows exactly what's missing from his recipe, despite having no idea why. One impromptu cooking session later, impossible things start happening. Now Caden has a glowing sauce pot, a very confused roommate, far too many questions, and a growing suspicion that Kai has forgotten something important.
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The Flannan Isles Lighthouse Mystery is one of mankind's greatest mysteries, which has never been explained. Until now. In December 1900, three lighthouse keepers—James Ducat, Thomas Marshall, and Donald MacArthur—vanished from the remote Flannan Isles in Scotland. A relief crew found the lighthouse empty, with a stopped clock, an overturned chair, and, inexplicably, one set of oilskins left behind.
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For more than ninety years, historians have argued over the moment at which the American Civil War ceased to be merely a war of armies and became a crisis of survival for the Union itself. Some have fixed that moment at Gettysburg, where Meade’s failure to pursue Lee allowed the Army of Northern Virginia to escape, recover, and preserve the Shenandoah supply lines on which Richmond still depended. Others have looked west to Vicksburg, where Grant’s victory promised command of the Mississipp
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I knew I was in deep shit. My hands trembled as I stared at the large piece of green clay that had been meticulously sculpted into the end of a curled ponytail. I gulped hard as I pressed the piece back against the clay figurine of the Japanese digital pop star in front of me. Even if I glued it back together, the seam would be evident to my best friend's keen eyes, and my panic continued to rise. Jeff had worked on this sculpture from scratch for months, sparing no detail in recr
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In mid-February of 1989, I was at a soirée in Laguna Niguel, a lively gay celebration marking a friend’s birthday. Laughter and music filled the air, but a hush fell over the crowd as the television in one corner started broadcasting Marc Christian's appearance on a news program with his new lawyer, Harold Rhoden. He was there to share his side of the story, painting Rock Hudson as a deceitful figure who had kept the knowledge of his AIDS diagnosis hidden. As Marc's voice filled the room, he utt
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